


Something About Us

by Nebbles



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, rating for language and mentions of abuse, sylvain and felix are not okay, tw: abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/pseuds/Nebbles
Summary: Both Sylvain and Felix have never been good about addressing their feelings, especially with each other.Five years can change things.





	Something About Us

It’s been three days since they’ve buried his father on the monastery grounds. 

He’s surprised he can count them; he hasn’t even been trying. They’ve each blurred into each other, drowned out by the sound of his blade smacking into the worn training dummy in front of him. It’s seen better days.

Felix can say that about himself as well. He can count the hours of sleep he’s gotten on his hands. It’s better to be here, trying to clear his mind, not wanting his thoughts to claim him. He’s never been good at coping anyway. 

There's a pause to wipe sweat from his brow, hair matted to his forehead as he tries to catch his breath. His hands are worn, new calluses over the skin. They ache the harder he grips the hilt of his sword. He doesn’t relent, raising his arms again to bring it crashing down onto the dummy.

It breaks.

He huffs, irritated, finding another dummy to practice his blade on. His muscles ache, beg for him to stop, to rest. But he can’t. He’s done nothing but train for as long as he can remember, and for what worth? 

He knows the limits of his body, anyway. There’s more it can handle, more he can train. He needs to be stronger. Faster. It’s never, ever enough. Not until people are done dying for the sake of others. He’s sick and tired of it, this concept of dying as a hero, some martyr for people to remember, in the name of chivalry. What good were they dead, anyway? What could they do, who could they protect?

The last time he trained like this, Glenn’s armor was returned to House Fraldarius. 

And now there’s no one left to claim the title but himself. He never wanted it, never cared for it. Titles meant nothing to him. The title his father bore didn’t save his life. Was it ever supposed to? Is he supposed to uphold some sense of honor, all because his father decided to save the life of that damned boar prince? 

Why was everyone so complacent about the concept of laying down their lives for others? What was wrong with living for yourself, to see another day, and ensuring the one worth protecting was strong enough to see it alongside you? The damn prince was strong enough to save himself. This shouldn’t have happened. 

Felix stares the training dummy down, almost as if it’d offer answers. It doesn’t, and he hits it hard enough for the sound to echo throughout the training hall. It’s loud enough to drown out his thoughts, and it’s all he needs. 

By the time the next dummy is whittled down, and there’s nothing but still air, Felix hears a voice behind him.

“I figured you’d be here.”

Of _ course _ it’s Sylvain.

“What do you want? I’m busy.” He sounds so angry, and he doesn’t necessarily mean to direct it at him. “Don’t you have something to do?”

“I do, and it’s making sure you aren’t working yourself to exhaustion.” It doesn’t take much to see Felix is pushing his limits. He looks so tired. “I wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Goddess, it’s all he’s heard. Stupid sentiments of pity and condolences that he never wanted, apologies from faces he never knew. The last thing he needs is to hear it from Sylvain. It’s why he’s been here. Avoiding him, avoiding everyone else, it’s easier. He can sort out his thoughts without their help - that is, if he decides to pay any mind to them.

“I’m fine, and as I said, I’m busy.” He turns away from him. Were this five years ago, he’d sneer and ask Sylvain if he has some women to go pick up.

With the monastery as empty as it is, it’s a hollow question to ask. Whatever else Felix wants to say lies in the back of his throat, and he goes to assume a training stance once more.

“You’ve been here all night, you know.” Sylvain’s footsteps grow closer. “It wouldn’t kill you to take a break.”

“Are you just here to bother me?” Felix tries to glare at him. The anger doesn’t reach his eyes. 

_Don’t say you’re worried. Anyone but you. _The last thing he needs is Sylvain’s eyes looking at him in that way. He knows that look. He hates it. He loves it. He wonders if he’s the only one who Sylvain ever looks at like that. He doesn’t even realize his hands are shaking around the sword’s hilt, fingers twitching in agony.

“Why don’t you take a bath and join me for dinner?” It’s well past the hour everyone’s eaten, which Felix at least can appreciate. Less eyes on him. “You could probably use a good meal.” 

The look Felix offers is baffling. Join him for dinner - so what, he can see more looks of pity? Why is Sylvain even asking this? “I’ll eat later. I’m not done training, so I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”

He turns around as to not face Sylvain anymore, but senses the other hasn’t left yet. He wants to snap at him, yell at him to leave, call him all sorts of insults just to get some peace and quiet. But he can’t find the energy to. It doesn’t feel right. 

Perhaps it’s because when he did the same five years ago, the look on Sylvain’s face was enough to break his heart in half. 

“Talk to me.” Sylvain finally says. “I know you don’t want any hollow sentiments over what happened, and I’m not here to give them. I just want you to talk.”

Felix lowers his sword. He looks at Sylvain, trying to process what he’s hearing. “I don’t -- I don’t have anything _ to _ say.”

“And you think I’m going to believe that? I know you better than anyone.” Sylvain does, and Felix can’t deny it for a second. There’s no use in lying. “Listen, just take a bath, and I’ll go get us something from the dining hall. I know your favorites, anyway.” He smiles, acting as if they’re holding an entirely different conversation. “...I’ll talk, too.”

...What could Sylvain possibly have to talk about?

He isn’t entirely sure why his heart stops in his throat. He forces himself to look in the other direction, and the training sword is placed against the wall. _ Damn him _, Felix thinks. He isn’t strong enough to push Sylvain away this time. It’s the most genuine attempt at consolation he’s gotten, one that isn’t hollow, and he wants it more than he’s comfortable with admitting.

Felix knows he isn’t immune to emotions. Sylvain knows it too; he always has, even for these past nine years. That under all the bitterness and the biting words, he’s the same sniveling kid that always sought the comfort Sylvain was able to offer. 

He's so pathetic, it's almost funny. 

"Fine. Should I meet you in the dining hall?" Felix realizes how sore he is as he tries to stretch out his shoulders. 

"How about my room? No one can bother us there." Instantly, Felix makes a face at Sylvain. "Hey, I don't mean it like that! I just figured it'd be better if we talked without anyone else around."

“Alright.” What’s the point in arguing? Sylvain’s serious, and it’s obvious from the smallest of changes in his tone. An odd, unsettling feeling creeps up around Felix, encasing him. Something feels off. 

Maybe he’s imagining things. Sylvain’s probably just concerned about him. Whatever he wants to talk about is assumedly harmless. 

He’s either lying to himself, or Felix refuses to believe that Sylvain’s hurting as much as he is. Perhaps even more.

“I’ll see you soon!” How is Sylvain going back to sounding so goddamn cheerful? Felix is left even more puzzled than before, and gives an annoyed grunt as he heads to the bath house. Sour as he is to leave the training grounds, there’s a part of him that can’t deny he needs a break.

* * *

The hot water does soothe his muscles, and it feels better than he’d like to admit once he’s sitting down. Felix looks at nothing in particular, mind everywhere and nowhere at once. With a sigh, he stretches out his arms, eyes following the faint lightning scars that trace over the skin. Resistant he was at first to use magic, he almost can’t help but chase the thrill now whenever he uses it. It was just another extension of himself, much like his sword. 

He turns his arms over, focusing on the inside of his hands. They’ve certainly looked better. Before, when he trained, Felix always made sure to wrap them probably to prevent any damage. Now they’re covered in a legion of calluses and bruises, worn from overuse. He’ll have to rest them, much as he’s reluctant to. They’re in the middle of war - can he really afford that?

Whatever - he knows answers won’t grace him if he chases that line of thought. Felix wants to shut his mind off, but it refuses to let him rest.

_“I’ll talk, too.” _

What does Sylvain mean? They’ve known each other since they were children, and never did Felix think the other had something to hide. It’s a silly thought - everyone has their darkest secrets, ones they never want to breathe into the light. Sylvain never struck him as that. Sylvain always seemed like he was happier letting things come and go. 

...What if it was all a _ lie? _

That can’t be right. Sylvain, who greeted their battles with a smile. Sylvain, who always did his best to make his friends smile and lift their spirits. Sylvain, who even managed to smile while having the Lance of Ruin thrust into his hands, despite all that happened before it. Felix knows that smile so well. He doesn’t want to think it’s fake, and underneath it all, he’s in pain as well. It’s easier to acknowledge he’s upset over his old man. 

Felix holds his breath as he sinks his head beneath the warm water, hoping it’ll do some good to clear out his mind. As he comes up for air, he brushes the wet hair back from his face, huffing, trying to make sense of where his mind’s going. Ugh, it isn’t like him to worry. He’s still embarrassed at himself for thinking Sylvain would’ve died from that injury he got. As that turned out to be nothing, this has to be in a similar vein.

Sylvain’s fine, he decides to tell himself. He has to be.

He doesn’t want to imagine otherwise.

* * *

It’s rare the truth slips out for Sylvain. He’s crafted the perfect image for himself, one to which no one would ever bother to ask whether he was alright or not. It’s funny to be content with being known as a womanizer and a good-for-nothing rather than people knowing that oh, maybe everything isn’t okay. Why drag everyone down? It’d be rude of him. Sylvain’s happier knowing he can be there for his friends. He isn’t worth the trouble. 

He thinks back to five years ago, to Conand Tower and Miklan. Oh, how everyone came rushing to his side after it was done, after his brother gave his last breath. He remembers the way Felix looked at him. And of course, all Sylvain said was that Miklan was a piece of garbage. As always, it fell to him to clean up his brother’s messes. It’s seldom his mind goes back to those days. 

Man, what a way to start the year. He laughs to himself, somewhat sad and pitiful. 

Now Rodrigue’s dead. The entire continent is at war. Who knows if he’ll live to see the end? He’d love to keep his promise to Felix, but war’s never fair. There’s a lot he wants to tell Felix, and who knows how much he’ll end up saying tonight.

What he’s told Mercedes, the professor - it’s barely scratching the surface. As much as those two mean to him now, Sylvain knows Felix deserves to be aware. They’re best friends. He trusts Felix deeply. And perhaps he should have spoken sooner, before it was too much to bear, but Sylvain’s never been good at honesty when the matter’s regarded him anyway.

He sighs, running a hand down his face. It’s too late to take the words back, and he still doesn’t know where to start, what to say. All he knows is he wants Felix to speak first. Just for him to say anything, so he can help Felix, who deserves all of the love and care he can offer. It’s not fair for him to take up the attention, anyway. It’s all Sylvain’s done his entire life - steal the spotlight from others, no matter how little he deserved it. 

The Lance of Ruin left no scars on him. 

Sylvain wishes it had. 

* * *

Felix rolls his shoulders, getting the last remnants of stiffness out of his joints. He feels more alive, that’s for certain, even if a veil of exhaustion still hangs around him. He’s well enough to do what’s needed, which is talking to Sylvain.

He hardly wants to talk about himself, especially when the idea can present him as open and vulnerable. It’s not like Sylvain’s one to judge if tears were to spill - angry or otherwise - over his old man. If Sylvain lets him, he may shed a few for Glenn as well. He’s spent so many years fighting back the notion that if it begins, he’s afraid it’ll be hard to stop. Sylvain certainly deserves better than him wailing nonsense into his shoulder until sunrise. 

He sighs, trying to give himself a few more minutes until heading to Sylvain’s room. What would he even start with? What’s there to say that isn’t going to immediately open the floodgates?

_‘Oh, I’m just worried my old man cared more about the damned boar prince than he cared about me.’_

Yeah, that’ll go over well.

‘_ I can’t lose you either, Sylvain.’ _

Goddess, the look Sylvain’s eyes would hold at that. He’s terrible with eye contact as is, and even the idea of it sends Felix’s gaze straight to the ground.

His fingers twitch over the doorknob, and Felix absolutely hates how nervous he is. The feeling rivals the pit in his stomach when Sylvain was injured, when he saw blood on his shirt, when he thought the other was going to _ die. _The feelings he’s fought so hard to repress, just because it’s easier this way, claw their way to the surface.

Curse his weakness for Sylvain. Just like times past, here he is, coming crying to him. 

“Hey.” Sylvain looks over at him. “How are you feeling?”

Felix sits at the edge of the bed, eyes anywhere but Sylvain. He’ll work his way to the actual topic at hand. “I’m alright. Your suggestion of taking a bath wasn’t awful.”

He hears a soft snort from Sylvain. “I would hope I’m capable of making a decent suggestion at some point.” 

Still avoiding his gaze, Felix notes there's two plates on the nightstand. Sylvain's gotten his favorite, of course he did, but his stomach can't agree with the idea of food at the moment. With Sylvain not touching his plate either, Felix wonders if getting dinner is just an excuse for them to talk. 

No words come to mind, and the silence stabs at Felix the longer he waits. Neither of them want to go first, it seems. This won't be easy, but it's foolish to assume otherwise. Both of them have quite the habit of being stubborn. 

“You’re not eating,” Felix mumbles, drawing his knees to his chest. 

“Well, it’d be rude to eat without you.” Sylvain smiles at him. Were Felix looking, he’d realize it’s not reaching his eyes. 

“Hmph.” They’re going to be here all night at this rate. 

He did agree to talk. He’s opened up to the professor, just barely, admitting how he’s training for a duel with a corpse. Glenn’s ghost haunts him still, and Felix believes he’ll never let go. Will his father’s ghost do the same? Is this a fate he must simply lie down and accept? 

All he knows is he can’t let Sylvain join them in the ranks of the dead. Regardless of the promise they made as children, Felix refuses to watch Sylvain die. 

If he can talk to the professor about his past, he can talk to Sylvain, too.

“I…” He sucks in a deep breath, staring at the floor, “I hate the fact that my old man died for the boar.”

Sylvain’s staring at him. He doesn’t need to look up to see that - it’s just a silent affirmation he’s listening. 

“Ever since he got here, it’s all I heard from him. How he needs to give him guidance in the fight against the empire,” he’s gripping the sides of his arms, “and look where it got him.”

Felix thinks about how it’s a common trait between Glenn and his father - they both died for some notion of “knightly ideals” without even considering how it’d affect people around them. How selfish. 

“I want to hate him. I’ve told myself I’ve hated him ever since Glenn died.” With him gone, Felix hates that they never got a chance to reconcile. “But now, I just…”

He isn’t going to cry - not this time. Felix doesn’t want to shed anymore angry tears over this. 

“You miss him.” Sylvain answers simply. 

He hates how easily Sylvain can read him. “Yeah.”

Quiet lulls between them for a moment, before Felix finds himself unable to hold back his next words. “I don’t understand why them, or Ingrid, or you keep throwing yourselves in front of people. No knightly ideals are going to save them from being hurt.”

He knows it’s war, and he knows there’s no guarantee to see tomorrow. But he’s tired of people dying for stupid reasons.

“If you die, Sylvain, I’m never going to forgive you.” 

“Hey, I said I was going to get better, wasn’t I?” Sylvain’s tone is as soft as it was the day in the infirmary. “And I promised I wouldn’t die before you.”

“I know.” Felix sighs, and tries to release some of the tension in his body. “I’m not dying before you, either.”

The moment he made that promise was when he began to think of Sylvain as his best friend. Hearing it again makes him think of Sylvain as something more, and he tries to quash that thought before it takes over. That isn’t what he’s here for.

“Don’t you have something to talk about?” Ah, yes, hearing about Sylvain’s troubles will surely help. 

It’s Sylvain who looks away this time.

“I’ve been having the same nightmare for the past five years.” 

_What?_

This catches Felix’s attention - his eyes snap to Sylvain instantly, whose eyes are glassy. Felix is familiar with the look himself; he knows he’s had that same look in his own. Yet with Sylvain, they seem to reach an unknown distance, almost as if there’s a thread tugging on him, pulling him back to the recesses of his mind, refusing to let him go. 

Five years ago. There’s an idea of what his nightmares contain, and it makes his blood run cold. 

“Conand Tower,” Sylvain continues, his voice so quiet and foreign, “and when Miklan transformed into that beast.”

“Sylvain.” Five years. _ Five years. _Has Sylvain had a good night’s rest since then? “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It wasn’t important.” He answers it so simply, as if it were the most obvious one in the world. 

“It wasn’t impor-- do you hear yourself right now?” Felix hates it, but he’s terrified. This doesn’t sound like Sylvain. “Why would you even think that?”

“Do you know Miklan tried to kill me, Felix?”

_No. No, no, no._

“Before that day in the tower. Once my parents shoved him aside because I had a Crest, he hated me.” Sylvain recalls this like he’s talking about the weather. “He shoved me in a well once.”

Felix remembers the week Sylvain “fell off his horse” as a child, and couldn’t play with him, Ingrid and Dimitri.

“He left me on the side of a mountain in the middle of winter, too.”

The time Sylvain mysteriously had pneumonia makes sense. Felix has never been more angry at himself in his entire life for never questioning it, never goddamn questioning the bruises on his face or the tight-lipped smiles concealing lies.

“Why,” Felix has to restrain the venom in his voice, he’s so livid, “did your parents never do anything?”

“Heh. Imagine what that would’ve done to the Gautier name.” Sylvain shrugs. That’s it - that’s his reaction, and Felix is growing more concerned by the second. “Knowing that their prized heir spent his childhood getting hit by his older brother.”

“Sylvain,” he can only manage to say his name, placing a hand on his shoulder, “why did you never tell us?” 

They could’ve done something. Anything. Felix hates to think of it, but he knows his old man would’ve protected Sylvain in a second. Ingrid would’ve done something - even the boar would’ve helped. Sylvain was their friend. None of them would’ve stood for this.

However, Felix isn’t prepared for the next thing he hears out of Sylvain’s mouth.

“I deserved it, Felix.”

Whatever Felix wants to say next, it dies in his throat. He’s horrified to know this is what Sylvain thinks about himself. He’s angry and heartbroken, and he almost wants to cry for him.

“I took Miklan’s life away from him by existing.” Sylvain sounds so sad. “I couldn’t blame him for hating me.”

“That’s not an excuse for him to hit you.” He reaches to place both of his hands on Sylvain’s shoulders. “There is nothing -- nothing -- that would ever excuse that.”

“You of all people know I’m not a good person.” Sylvain looks away from him - this time, he’s the one avoiding eye contact. Felix wishes he were better at it, just so he could try to have Sylvain focus on him. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? I’m a good-for-nothing. Insatiable.”

If he could take those words back, by the goddess, he would.

“I’m not a shining example of a good person myself.” He’s spent the past nine years pushing everyone away out of fear they’d leave him. He knows he’s said some horrible things to people, and still has yet to apologize. No attachment means no fear - if they died, it wouldn’t break his heart like Glenn did. “But did I deserve to lose my old man?”

Sylvain doesn’t reply, but that’s not going to stop Felix.

“I know you’ve hurt people. I have too.” There’s no excuse for their actions. But they can’t change what they did - they can only better themselves and move forward. “But don’t you dare say you deserved to get hit.”

His eyes finally meet Felix’s. Normally, he shies away from eye contact, but he forces himself to hold Sylvain’s gaze. What a shame it is, to have such brilliant eyes hold such sadness. He’s always thought of Sylvain’s eyes as beautiful - so warm and full of radiance. For them to mask so much pain is undeserving of how lovely they are. 

“You should’ve fought back.” Felix whispers. “You should’ve told that piece of shit you didn’t deserve it.”

“I did fight back.” Sylvain tries to laugh, and it comes out broken and sad. “I killed him, remember?”

“Sylvain,” Felix’s eyes widen, his heart threatening to shatter, “that’s…” 

It was Sylvain’s lance that finally pierced through the black beast, its dying howls shaking the tower walls as it fell to the ground. The rest of the Lions watched in horror that day as the wisps of darkness unraveled themselves from Miklan’s body, the lance glowing eerily by his side, the only source of light available to them. Felix remembers how silent Sylvain was, and how he was wielding the lance the next day like nothing had happened. 

Felix desires nothing more than to shatter the Lance of Ruin over his kneecap. It’s done nothing but hurt Sylvain. He wants to spit on Miklan’s grave and damn his family for doing this to him. 

All Felix can focus is on how angry he is. He isn’t sure who he’s more mad at, really. Miklan and Sylvain’s parents are the obvious options. Perhaps he’s angry at himself too, for not noticing Sylvain’s been hurting for so long. That he’s hidden this all behind that smile of his, behind flowery words and jokes that are nothing but empty. 

What kind of best friend is he to Sylvain, if he let him hurt like this?

“In the end--” Sylvain’s crying. Felix’s heart aches. “I was the one who won.”

Did Sylvain think Miklan would kill him first? Felix discards that thought as quickly as it plants itself in his mind, and reaches up to brush away a tear with his thumb. He isn’t sure what compels him to offer such a gentle touch, but Sylvain crying is about the worst thing he’s ever seen or heard. 

“I never asked for my Crest,” Sylvain leans into his touch, and Felix wonders if this is actually helping, “I never wanted to be treated this way.”

“Keep talking.” Felix encourages softly, wiping away another tear. “I’m listening.” 

It’s all he can think of to say. Felix knows this isn’t what he excels at, but he can’t just let Sylvain sit here like this. He wishes he could do more.

“I don’t think my parents ever loved me.” This isn’t something Felix expects either. “I was just a Crest to them.”

If possible, Felix loathes his family even more now. What a horrible bunch of people. 

“I mean, I don’t like myself either.” Sylvain keeps trying to laugh it off, like this is nothing, but it turns into sobs instead. “Can I blame them?”

It’s unfair that Sylvain hates himself. Felix is aware this is something he can’t control, but just wants to figure out something, anything to do to help. He’s terrible at dealing with emotions, and is running off what his gut wills him to. Whatever he ends up doing, he just hopes it’ll make Sylvain stop crying.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers again, leaning closer to Sylvain, “your family shouldn’t have treated you that way.” 

He’s aware of the distance between them closing, and his mind is daring him to do something stupid. Both of his hands are cupping Sylvain’s face - and no, he shouldn’t. What if it doesn’t even help? Upsetting Sylvain further is the last thing he wants to do. 

“I’m sorry.” Sylvain’s voice sounds strained. Felix can only imagine how long it’s been since he’s actually cried. “I should’ve been a better friend to you. To everyone.”

To hell with it.

Hoping this isn’t as impulsive and stupid as his mind says it will be, Felix leans up to kiss Sylvain. He doesn’t even care there’s tears prickling at his eyes too. He’ll cry for Sylvain, if it makes the pain easier. If he can do at least that, it’s something. It’s better than letting Sylvain deal with this alone. 

“You don’t have to apologize for being hurt.” It’s probably the first time Sylvain’s ever heard that phrase in his life. “Dammit, Sylvain, stop blaming yourself.”

His answer is to kiss Felix back, desperate and tear-stained, fingers curled in his hair. 

It’s nowhere near a perfect first kiss; in all honesty, Felix never expected that from them anyway. Were his feelings returned, their first kiss could have been anywhere. He’s imagined it’d be on the battlefield, after another brush with death, wanting to taste one another after so long. But what the hell, he figures - he’s kissing Sylvain. 

“I’ve been in love with you for so long, Sylvain.” Felix wants to look Sylvain in the eyes again, but it’s still difficult to keep the contact for extended periods of time.

He’s spent many years denying it, trying to repress the fact he’s been jealous every time Sylvain’s flirted with someone. It’s something he’s slowly taught himself to accept, and now that their souls are laid bare, he thinks it appropriate to finally tell him. If no one’s loved Sylvain his entire life, then Felix will be the first to change that. He’ll finally let someone in this world care for him. 

“It’s always been you.” Sylvain embraces Felix, burying his face into his hair. “Ever since we were kids.”

Felix returns the embrace, holding him tightly, never wanting to let go. He thinks back to when he called Sylvain the biggest fool in all of Fodlan - and perhaps it’s still true, and perhaps Felix is one as well. They’ve spent years dancing around their feelings, exchanging sidelong glances and lingering touches during the rare times Felix has dragged him to the training grounds. Fools in love they’ll be, then, who will learn to heal together.

It won’t be easy. Felix has no idea where to begin with this process; he needs to figure out how to heal on his own. He’s barely begun to address his issues, and Sylvain’s have just come into light as well. They’ll figure it out as they go. 

“I love you too.” Ah, there it is. Felix is happy to hear it back, even if he wishes it were under different circumstances. 

He lets Sylvain cry, rubbing circles into his back. He’ll learn to care, hoping he can see a smile - one that’s genuine - on Sylvain’s face. The only audible noises in the room are their soft sniffles, and Felix hopes his tears won’t weigh too heavily on Sylvain’s heart.

“We’re both messes, aren’t we?” Sylvain offers something between a laugh and a sob. “From one fucked up person to another, huh?”

The sentiment makes Felix give a chuckle of his own - Sylvain’s right, they’re both disasters. “From one fucked up person to another indeed.” 

The embrace is broken, only for Sylvain to kiss away any of Felix’s tears. He accepts the sensation happily - Sylvain’s lips are soft, and finally being able to feel them soothes the aching in his heart.

“How long have you waited to do that?” Sylvain’s peppering his face in kisses, not that it surprises him. They feel better than Felix could ever dreamed of. 

“Too long.” Sylvain places another kiss on Felix’s lips, sighing as he touches their foreheads together. “I want to get better.”

“Me too.” How long will it take? How many forks in the road will they encounter? Will they eventually get the support of others? Felix can ponder these questions all he likes, but answers will come one day. “We’ll help each other, somehow. We’ll learn.”

“I know I can’t apologize to everyone, but…” Sylvain’s fingers run through Felix’s hair. “No more lying to myself.”

“It’s a start.” Felix knows he still has to work out his differences with the boar - no, Dimitri - and some others. “We can’t get over this in one night.”

Nine years wasn’t enough time, that’s for sure. Trauma’s a fickle beast, different for them both. They’ll recover and support each other in their own ways.

“Look at you, sounding like you’re an expert on this already.” Sylvain’s laugh is softer this time; it carries less pain. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“Idiot,” Felix mumbles, but it’s said in such an affectionate way. “This is for your sake too.”

To be young and in love - what a feeling it is. Felix never imagined Sylvain would love him back, and that he’d be forced into some loveless marriage once the war came to its end. He’s sure the same thought’s graced Sylvain’s mind often, but now, that’s something they don’t need to worry about. They have each other. Felix will do whatever it takes to marry Sylvain and give him a safe, happy life. 

He’s so stupidly in love with this man, and finally, he’s comfortable enough to admit it. Felix kisses him over and over, making up for lost time and affection they should’ve shared years ago. 

“I love you.” He’ll say it again, if it’ll keep the smile on Sylvain’s face. He can grow accustomed to saying the words every day in soft whispers, every morning and every night. 

Sylvain holds him close, gladly returning every kiss. “I love you too, Felix. I promise to be someone worthy of you.”

They’ll be okay, Felix thinks, as they lie close to one another. No matter how long reaching okay will take, it’ll be worth every step.

In time, the smiles they share with the world will be as genuine as the ones they share with each other.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, make sure to leave a kudos/comment! To hear more of works to come/my rambles, follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/thatnebbles)


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